


Ai Hod Yu In

by Kirvanna



Series: Kirvanna Stephenford and the 100 Smallville Worl' Boss Slytherins [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22161490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirvanna/pseuds/Kirvanna
Summary: A magical girl meets a magical boy from across the sea. A good love. Loosely set in the Harry Potter Universe.
Series: Kirvanna Stephenford and the 100 Smallville Worl' Boss Slytherins [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595191
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Ai Hod Yu In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aleksa_grey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleksa_grey/gifts).



> This is dedicated to, inspired by, and written for,  
> My beloved,
> 
> The most magical person I have ever known,
> 
> Who gave a chance to someone silly,
> 
> To find a love they could believe in.

It had been another one of those days where it was all too much. Too much noise, too much children, too much whizzes and bangs from errant spells. Too much magic. Maybe life was different as a Hogwarts professor, but here at the John Crow Academy for Gifted Students, professors didn’t so much teach spells as they did mitigate destruction.

Unlike the old, slow magic of Europe and Asia, lumbering and mature, Jamaica’s magic still burned hot, temperamental, proud and rebellious. Many a young witch or warlock’s first experience with their latent abilities was a wisp of flame, a spark or energy, a hungry force emerging free.

The older mages did their best to find these special children, and get them to where they could properly learn to manage their abilities. Fear of the occult was strong in the Jamaican “Mug-man”, and too many children suffered at the hands of adults and relatives who thought they could “pray the obeah away”, or worse.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************

“Why do I even bother with this stupid spell?”

Gervandra lazily tapped the small disk in front of her with her wand. Images began swirling across its face for the umpteenth time that afternoon, a random assortment of faces and activities until it finally settled on one. The miniature form of an angry warlock appeared and immediately started yelling -

“WAND DISCRIMINATION IS RAMPANT IN THE JAMAICAN WIZARDING COMMUNITY! WARLOCKS SHOULD NOT BE SHAMED FOR HAVING SHORT WANDS. NOT ALL WITCH WANDS SHOULD BE SLENDER! IN THIS ESSAY I WILL-”

“Yikes.”

She swiped down with her wand and a new image came to the fore, this time a middle aged witch.

“LADIES OF MAGICAL JAMAICA, HEAR MY PLEA. PLEASE STOP TRYING TO MAGICALLY ENHANCE YOUR PUM-PUMS. THE KINGSTON MAGICAL MEDICAL CENTER IS TIRED OF BEING INUNDATED WITH YOUNG WOMEN WHO HAVE ACCIDENTALLY VANISHED THEIR URE-”

“Dumbasses.”

She swiped the mirror off. Social witchia was a curse sometimes more than a blessing. Plus her Mystical Mirror was low on magical power, and she wouldn't be able to replenish until she got home. You’d think wizardry had discovered ways to keep from forgetting charging components like that, and they had! But you had to be rolling in jamrocks to afford those.

You’d think magic would’ve fixed lots of things, but it didn’t. The jamaican magical community was proud, but small, and couldn’t really afford to completely separate themselves from the mugmans. Excepting a few groups nestled deep in the blue mountain interior, most jamaican magicals lived and worked amongst the mugman population. They married them too, with over 90% of the younger generation being half-mags. The bulk of the resources just went into keeping altercations with mugmans to a minimum. So many jamaican wizards had stories of having to wipe their exes memories after marriages went sour, although they typically didn’t wipe the memories of half the town who saw poor Errol start ranting about “Obeah women!” Many a town pariah had formerly been an unfaithful or abusive partner to magical.

She wasn’t married.

She was a professor at a mixed magic high school.

She did not like teaching.

It was a school with mugman and magman children. Most of the day was devoted to mugman lessons, and then in the afternoons, the magical teachers would educate the magical students under the guise of extracurriculars and remedial studies. The classes would be warded to just look like algebra classes from the outside, which worked, because nobody paid any attention to algebra.

Not even God.

Sometimes in the evenings she could find time to sneak out to the magman poetry bars. Lose herself in the words, the rhythms, the beats. It was a different kind of magic, and it was soothing.

There was nothing soothing about teaching. Magic or not, kids were kids. Loud, chaotic, emotional. The constant vigilance of keeping them from destroying each other wore on her. The mugs bullied the other mugs and then got bullied in turn by the mags when they tried to mess with them, although they never understood why their pranks and taunts failed to work. The mags were smug as a result, and got emboldened to use their rudimentary magic at every opportunity that they could get away with it. It was too much. They were too much.

There was no magical cure for anxiety. There were spells of course, and you could pay an absurd amount of Jamrocks to a healer to do some very complex mind magic on you, but the effect was temporary and the results dubious. Of course, any old grandlady would tell you that fancy healer stuff was folly, and then give you some disgusting sounding potions recipe to try. But who has time to put calcified lizard’s tail in their oxfoot stew?

Today was an anxious day. She was supervising an exam about some nonsense that wouldn't help the children be functional adults at all. The kids were being horrible and Gervandra just kept wondering if she should just run off and become “one of dem bush-witch”. It was a frequent thought. The potential freedom appealed to her. But she wasn't about to start making her own soap. And bush witch soap never smells like regular people soap. It just smell like bush.

She opened up the mirror again, and said her anxiousness into the void. It was glamoured to look like a mugman tablet and her wand a pen, but she had to be careful. They were encouraged not to use any complicated spell motions that would cause the non magical teachers and students to ask questions. So she couldn’t even do a simple cooling charm to help in the stifling mid afternoon heat.

It was too much.

Life was too much.

Magic was too little.

And some days felt… lonely.

Maybe smelling like bay leaves wouldn’t be so bad.

*bzzzt*

The mirror flashed gold. A message? She tapped it open. No image, just purple words appearing across the screen.

“Hey, I saw your message earlier. I don’t know you, but I understand that feeling. It happens to me too. You’re not alone.”

...

Hmmm.

“Are you a Jamaican wizard too?”

...

“No. Dominican.”

...

"The Spanish one?"

...

"The tiny one."

...

Hmmm.

...

“What do you think about bush soap?”

*****************************************

“Usain Bolt?”  
  
“Squib.”  
  
“Wow. I totally thought he was a wizard.”  
  
“We thought so too. His folks cleared it up though. Would’ve been a real mess. You know we’re not supposed to take part in muggle athletics.”  
  
“Yeah, then you gotta plant the fake ‘doping’ evidence.”  
  
“Exactly!”  
  
“Vybz Kartel?”  
  
“Oh yeah. Worl’ Boss is 100% warlock.”  
  
“Figures.”  
  


“Yeah, shame he messed up that skin lightening potion.”  
  
“You hate to see it.”  
  
“So then all those feuds…”  
  
“Oh yeah, all the major dancehall artists are warlocks. That level of hype is impossible to sustain otherwise. A lot of people think Mavado was the one who cursed Kartel's potion in the first place, but the timeline on that seems sketchy.”

“Damn… Jamaican wizards are interesting. Wait, Alkaline eyes?”  
  
“Clairvoyant. He got into a lot of trouble when he revealed the eyes, but the mugman just think it’s contacts.”  
  
“Muggles are silly.”  
  
They talked like this every night.

He was an arithmancer, which is to say, the nerdiest thing in the magical universe. He lived with a mugman aunt, who was very into Jesus. 

Since her mother was both into magic _and_ Jesus, she understood.

Dominican magic was different. No less young than Jamaica, but quieter. More curves than angles. Every wizard and witch on island knew each other by name, and mostly kept to themselves. Herbalists, pharmacists, beach bums. They didn’t concern themselves overmuch with the world, as long as it left the places they loved undisturbed. Magical hippies. 

His affinity was air, but he wasn’t that good at nature magic though. He wasn’t that good at lots of things. He liked numbers and sigils and signs. 

She didn’t like number magic. She liked flame and shadow. But she was also into transfiguration, even though her mother didn’t approve. She told her Jesus transfigured water to wine. It didn't help.

The two continued to talk in the mirror.

That helped.

Every night after the world tried to sap them of their strength, they would speak to each other and _recharge_. 

Months in, they worked up the courage to send each other their faces.

And a few months later, they sent each other’s faces _unglamoured_. They stared deep into the eyes of the other, and there wasn’t a flaw in sight between them.

She told him about battles of word and flame, the newest patois hexes, and her favourite shows, and he told her about his equations, and the difference between french and english charms.

He did in fact, like the smell of bush soap.

But he enjoyed indoor plumbing, so it was fine.

  
She had been worried he was an _old-school_ warlock. The kind that hated muggles, and wanted to spend all day inhaling potions fumes, and yelling at their partners. He was worried she would judge him for his equations, and his strange habits, and his sad days.  
  
But every evening they stayed and watched the stars together. And each hoped the other wouldn’t come to their senses, and the world wouldnt have to return to being a little bit dimmer.  
  
**************************

End Chapter 1.


End file.
